We Were Birds

Three; the beach

When she opens her eyes, Fern sees that she is on a train and it is chugging softly by the sea.

For a strange peaceful moment, she watches the blue-green waters and the seagulls that fly calmly over. She cannot hear their calls but she knows that they are crying and they are laughing. It is who they are. This strange place feels very relaxing and Fern thinks that this must be the nicest dream she ever had. Except that moments before she was here, she felt so sad and weak, she could have sworn she was dying from a broken heart. Or maybe it was because after she'd completed her task, she'd gone back to the house by the sea and it had been empty. Her father had died only three months after Quinn's funeral.

She'd let herself waste away to pracitcally nothing, which is why Fern finds it so surprising that she is feeling healthy and, as she glances down, looking quite well. Her head snaps up and she finally realizes that she is sitting next to an older woman who is knitting calmly. Fern watches the woman for a moment. "Excuse me," she eventually says, when she realizes the woman doesn't notice her eyes on her.

The woman looks up and smiles. "Oh, hello," she says in a voice that sounds like strawberries and cream. Fern smiles a tentative smile. "You're probably wondering what you're doing here," says the woman before Fern can ask.

"Well," Fern says, a little surprised, but after all, she's had stranger dreams before, "yes, I am wondering."

The woman scrunches up her nose and leans over Fern to look out the window. Shifting back, Fern looks outside. The sea sparkles in the midafternoon sun. From beyond, something that looks quite dolphin-like flips energetically out of the ocean. The woman grins at Fern. "There's no other way to put this, but...you're dead."

Fern sits for a few moments, not quite sure what to say. Either this is the strangest dream she's ever had, or.... Fern pinches herself to see if she'll wake up - well that's what they do in the movies, right? It doesn't work. She's still asleep, or dead, or whatnot. Closing her eyes, she lets the idea of her death roll over her. It's plausible. It wasn't as if she was trying to kill herself, honestly she wasn't. But she'd done what she'd set off to do, two years ago. Then she'd come back to the house by the sea. And then she'd simply...stopped existing. Oh, she'd been living, but she hardly ate, never drank. It had been pitiable, truly it had and Quinn would have been so angry if he'd seen her like that.

Dead. Most curious. Fern opens her eyes and looks at the woman. "You're...sure?" she asks. The woman shrugs.

"You're not going to wake up, I never have. And I've been here for some time."

"Why?" The question in simple but pain clouds over the woman's eyes.

She takes in a deep breath. "This is not really where you're supposed to go. See this train? If you'd like you can stay on it, you can go beyond the Final Stop. No one knows where that goes of course, because anyone who goes beyond the Final Stop never comes back. But if there's something you need to do, or someone you're waiting for...you can stay here. I'm waiting for my sister. We were all we had in the world and I refuse to go on without her."

Fern's heart unknowingly spikes and jumps into her throat. "People...who've died wait for other people here?" she asks, looking around the train.

"Yes. But if whomever you're looking for has gotten off the train, it's terribly difficult to find them. But I refuse to give up hope. I will not go on without her," she repeats but the woman has already been forgotten as Fern looks out the window absentmindedly. It's not as if she doesn't want to hear what the woman says, she's just...thinking right now. Two years. It's been two years. But what if he never forgave her? What if he lied when he'd told her that one last time that he loved her, just to make her feel happy? She'd left him so quickly those months before he got pneumonia. And then when she'd come back he'd been so sick...but she had been miserable without him and it hadn't been her fault, but she'd never gotten the chance...

"I have to get off this train," Fern says in a clipped voice, standing up suddenly. She leans her head against the window. The train is closing in on a small town. Town? Fern wonders. Why are there towns here? Who would stay here that long? But maybe they are afraid of whatever lies beyond the Final Stop...it is like death, all over again. Never knowing what is coming in death and then finding this paradise. Why leave? Then maybe Quinn hasn't disappeared. Maybe he's sticking around, just for the heck of it. And she'll find him, oh dear God, if it's the last thing she does, she'll find him.

The train slows to a stop at a salt-stained rock platform. Fern leaves the train and there is one other person there. When she looks into the train, she sees the old woman has returned to her knitting. Fern lifts her hand in a sort of wave that the old woman will never see. A wave of loss rushes of Fern. She has died. Unless this is some insane dream brought on by something she ate. But she hadn't eaten anything in awhile.

She is standing in a white dress with ruffles for sleeves that flaps in the salty sea breeze. The dress had been her mother's. During those last months she'd worn all of her mother's old clothes. There was a stain on the skirt from hot tea that isn't there now. Fern's skin is glowing and healthy. Running a hand through her hair, she realizes that there are no knots in it, that it is shiny and glossy as if she'd gone to the salon only that morning. And she wonders if, had she have a mirror, if her eyes would be the same sparkling blue that Quinn had said (with a sigh and a laugh) he'd fallen in love with all those years ago.

Dead, then, she's dead. Panic suddenly courses through her. Who will find her body? Oh God, it could be months! But no, no, everyday she'd gone down to the sea. And there were always men there. They would notice if she didn't come around. And they might go up to the house and they'd see her car was still there. And one might get up the courage to see. It was funny...the men always looked as if they might strike up a conversation if she wasn't...well, her.

"That's Fern," they'd whispered one day to a new boy. "Quinn Sutherland, he was our best man, yeah she was his girl. They ran off together right outta high school. It caused quite a commotion, you know, Fern being the professor's daughter and all...yeah well Quinn died, damn if I didn't cry. She came back for his funeral but took off the very same day...we don't talk to her. She's got that look in her eyes. You know she's dead inside."

No, no, that hadn't been it. She hadn't been dead then, not completely. She'd just given up. She'd lived her life. She'd seen what she needed to see. And she'd realized...well, that part of her life had been over. So she'd come home and she'd ended that chapter in her life. Just like Quinn had said. And now she was here. He'd been right, then. Well, he was always right about those sorts of things. This really was just the next adventure.

A small, breathy laugh escapes her lungs. There is a strange heaviness in her heart but a lightness in her body. She is dead and there is a possibility that Quinn moved on without her. But somehow, somehow she knows she can't give up hope. Fern turns away from where the train had been and looks out to the sea. A young man walks up the stairs to the platform and sits on the bench directly next to Fern. He is handsome but has a weak chin. He looks at her with interest, though. "You just died, didn't you." It isn't much of a question.

"Yes," Fern replies with hesitancy. "How did you know?"

The man shrugs. "You've got this delighted yet somehow horrified look on your face. Everyone who dies either feels ridiculously happy or very, very scared." He smiles. "You're both, I guess."

Fern's eyes spark with curiousity. "How long have you been here?" she asks.

Surprised, the man looks up at her. "Well I guess...a year or so. I'm not sure, days go by strangely here."

"Have you ever known someone who has found the person that they're waiting for?" she asks and the man stops for a moment but nods a slow nod. He speaks no words, just nods. Fern looks back out to the sea. "Have you ever met someone who never found the person they were waiting for?" she asks now. The man is quiet for a real long time but Fern keeps looking at him, hoping he'll give her something to go on. Finally, the man nods that slow nod again.

"I doubt I'll ever find who I'm looking for," he says softly.

Fern leans over the side of the rail. "I wonder if this is actually a dream and I'll just wake up in my room." She laughs for real this time, something she hasn't done for a long time. The noise is clear and true and she likes the sound of it. She's missed laughing. "I don't know."

"Does anyone?" asks the man.

Looking at the man, Fern is suddenly and inexplicably reminded of the time when she bought an ancient tape player and a second-hand tape of Edith Piaf's greatest hits. She'd brought the player home and put in the tape. It had played horribly, so shaky and warbly. The violins had tuned in and out but still, Edith's voice had rung out loud and beautiful. And Fern, with her slightly off key but enthusiastic voice had sung to Quinn:

Quand il me prend dans ses bras
Il me parle tout bas,
Je vois la vie en rose.


And he'd laughed then and had pulled her down by her hips and had kissed her soundly and softly and had told her that everything would be beautiful one day, that one day they were going to live in a white house with green shutters and a picket fence and they were going to name their kids Lily and Peter (because those were Fern's favorite names in the world) and everything was going to be perfect and the sunlight had been streaming in and Edith had been in the background singing about the good life, la vie en rose...those were in the old days before they knew that Quinn was dying. Back when the only thing they had to worry about was how they were going to pay for rent that week or how they were going to buy food...

Fern takes herself out of the daydream and realizes that the man has already left. She'd heard the train whistle blow as it came into the station like some kind of far-off memory. He hadn't even said goodbye. But every single, solitary gesture here was just another goodbye. At any point you could pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start over again.

She walks off the platform then and wanders down to the sea. The beach grass is tall and prickly, but doesn't hurt much. It actually surprises Fern that she can feel pain, if she's supposedly dead and all. Of course, if this were a dream, she wouldn't feel pain either. Or maybe this is some kind of hallucination. She still doesn't really know, she still can't fully accept that this is what she is now. That her real body is lying on a tiny bed in a small pink room where one day, so long ago, Quinn had covered her mouth with his own ferociously and crushed her to him like she wasn't fragile, like she wasn't about to break. But this is a real enough body, too. Hugging herself, Fern feels just how real she is.

The sand is pure white and there are pink shells scattered around. Fern picks one up and wanders down to the shoreline and takes off her black lace up shoes. The water is warm as she lets the small waves roll soundlessly over her toes. She winds her arm back and then lets it fly. The shell soars through the air and lands in the water with a satisfying plunk.

What are you standing around here for? her mind suddenly asks her. Why are you still standing her? Get back on that train, or at least start walking. You've got a lot of ground to cover if you're ever going to find Quinn. You don't even know where he is. You don't even know where you are.

Fern shrugs to no one. "All right, all right," she mumbles and shoves her now sandy feet into her shoes. The friction of the sand and the leather does not feel good but she ignores the feeling and walks deliberately up the beach and out of the grass. She does not get back on the platform but instead walks down the dirt road that leads away from the small cluster of houses.

She will find him. She will not go on without him. Fern sniffs the air which smells of the beach. It reminds her of Quinn. The smell is comforting. It reminds her of home.